


This wire is all that’s left of me

by melonbutterfly



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Canon, Episode Tag, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-24
Updated: 2011-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-24 22:34:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonbutterfly/pseuds/melonbutterfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But this? No. Castiel is <em>furious</em>.</p><p>Tag to 5.18.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This wire is all that’s left of me

Castiel isn't exactly the most rational of all angels. He knows the humans – Dean, Sam, Bobby; he has to remember to think of them with their names – consider him cool, detached, rational, but that's really not true. If it were, he certainly wouldn't be here; he would have stayed faithful, obeying the orders he's given, not questioning anything or anyone.

No, from an angel's point of view, he's been regarded as borderline rebellious, even before his defection. Now, they consider him dangerous and are trying to kill him.

At the beginning, Dean had considered him dangerous too, but that changed. He has always been without respect, at least in words; it has always been very important to him to try to appear unruffled, unimpressed, unafraid. Castiel, though, who has seen his innermost self, knows him from the inside out because it was him who put Dean back together, shaped him into a human again, has only been willing to let him go so far, before.

Before; that is before Dean lost the faith he had always claimed not to have and decided that the best course of action is to just give up and let Michael deal with it.

Castiel remembers clearly the person Dean had been when he would rather have died and gone back to hell than let Michael into his body; he doesn't even recognise Dean now. Seeing that twisted, _defeated_ person who has to be locked into a room by his own comrades because they can't trust him anymore – Castiel very much wants that rebel back, the one who acts like he has no respect for anyone or anything, but who is really one of the kindest humans Castiel has ever encountered.

It makes him so fucking angry. This isn't what he signed up for; when all had been lost, he had put all the faith he had left in Dean Winchester. He had been disappointed once, but at least Dean had kept going, hadn't given up. He had made a mistake; one of epic proportions, granted, and Castiel certainly had not been happy about it, but one of the lessons he has learned from watching humans, if not from own experience, is that things go very rarely as they have been planned.

But this? No. Castiel is _furious_.

So when he and Sam go to talk to Dean and Dean looks at him like he doesn't even know what Castiel is getting so worked up about and then tops it off with a line about getting laid, bravado paper-thin and so fake it hurts? Something in him snaps, and Castiel has enough, once and for all.

Sam, ever the polite diplomat (except for when he's the exact opposite), suggests he goes to keep an eye on Adam, and Castiel says "No" and steps into the room. Both brothers look equally perplexed, but Castiel has never had much patience for human rituals and rules, and so he just looks at Sam and says, "Leave."

"Er, Cas..." Sam hesitates, looking back and forth between Dean, who frowns, and Castiel. He obviously decides that protesting won't be of much use and settles for a careful, "Don't do anything rash, okay?"

Castiel can't promise anything (somehow, Dean continuously makes him do rash things), and so he says nothing, just waits until the younger Winchester brother leaves the room and closes the door after him.

Then, and only then, does he turn around and looks at Dean. For a moment, neither of them says anything; then, Dean spreads his arms and says, "What now?" It's a challenge; Dean spends most of the time he opens his mouth challenging someone, and half the time those challenges are aimed at him, Castiel. Now is no different, except Castiel really makes little effort to reign his temper in as he grabs the cloth of Dean's shirt and pushes him forcefully into the wall.

"Whoa, Cas-" Dean starts, and Castiel pushes him again, harder this time. "No," he says, then pulls away, disgusted with the person in front of him.

And Dean must have seen it, for he immediately bristles and lashes out in defence, as he is prone to. "You gonna take a swing at me, Cas? Come on, do it. Hit me." He juts out his chin, presenting his face, and his eyes are cold and yet... there is a strangely vulnerable desperation in them, something that is very rarely visible in Dean. It both makes Castiel want to cradle, soothe him, and actually do it and hit him; they don't have time for this. Castiel has said it before; he isn't here to perch on Dean's shoulder, and he didn't rebel to coddle and protect Dean. He's perfectly capable of doing that himself, and that he refuses to do so now, when they really don't have time to deal with that dogshit, really pisses Castiel off.

His failure to act in the right moment (and perhaps he really should have hit him, except doing so after Dean demanded it would only have made Castiel angrier, and Dean more defeated) just riles Dean up even more, and he smirks coldly. "Or did you really come here for a fuck, Cas? You gonna fuck me?"

Castiel tilts his head and considers that. "Is that what you want?", he asks, and his voice is rough with the anger that's chafing inside, but surprisingly calm, considering he is a breath away from giving Dean the beating he is asking for with more than just words.

Something in Dean's face twists and he turns his face away. When he looks at Castiel again the façade is back in place, but he couldn't have made it clearer if he'd said it.

Dean challenges, and Castiel answers by wrapping his hand around Dean's neck and pulling him in, smashing their mouths together. After one moment of shock and another of _something_ before he catches himself, Dean tries to pull back, and Castiel uses the momentum to push him back into the wall with his whole body, forcing his leg between Dean's.

Like a house too brittle to hold through a storm, Dean's façade gives out, just crumbles, and he practically melts into Castiel.

And Castiel can barely believe it, but he has found the key to Dean's defence; it will probably only work once like all the other times before something only worked once, but now that he is behind the wall, now that Dean has let him inside, he doesn't intend to let Dean push him out again until he's well and ready to leave.

He pushes his tongue into Dean's mouth, doesn't ask for permission and still receives it as Dean's tongue rises and rubs against his, makes room when he roughly pushes it aside to explore, to take over. It's an apology, it's conquer; it's besoothing and reassurance, apology and an appeal for help, a demand, and none of those things. Almost on their own accord, his hands reach up to cradle Dean's face, hold him still while he ravages his mouth; he takes his time, cataloguing each taste and texture, every tiny sound Dean makes and the way it feels to take possession of him like that, to feel hands tentatively – _tentativeness,_ from _Dean_ – land on his hips, just holding, no demand, no question in his every move; just acceptance.

It's intoxicating, and Castiel feels his control slip but he welcomes it, pushes into Dean even harder, moulding their bodies together and into the wall, one of Dean's legs rising just a little to rub against the knee between his thighs.

He doesn't know how long they stay like this, mouths fused together, tongues playing the dance they kept metaphorical until now, translating words into something else, a language – perhaps the only one – where Dean is more fluent than Castiel is. Naturally, as he's wont to, Dean tries to accelerate their tempo, pushes his hand under Castiel's coat, up to his waist and then to his front, starts to pull at his shirt, but Castiel pushes his hand back down to his hip. They're doing this _his_ way, and he won't let Dean rush him.

In the end, Dean surrenders to his pace and pours all his concentration into the kiss; Castiel can feel the shift when it turns from simply being "step one" on the ladder of seduction to its own act in the way his breathing changes, how Dean stops being pushy and starts moving more in tandem with him.

And then Dean shifts and suddenly Castiel's thigh is pressing into the hard bulge of Dean's erection; Castiel's aggression spikes again and he pulls back, takes in the picture Dean makes, needing the wall to hold him up, legs spread a little, pupils blown and chest raising rapidly as he pants for breath. There's no thought of giving up in his head now – it will come back, probably, but Castiel doesn't intend on making it easy for Dean at all.

This, he thinks as he pulls off his coat and jacket. This is what he wants from Dean; a real reaction, something more than automatic, programmed reactions and tired defeat. This is what he has been missing for the past few days; the real person behind that hard, too-pretty face.

"Cas..." Dean says, and there's an abundance of emotions layered in his voice, from insecurity over arousal to rebellion, but it's the tiredness that makes Castiel narrow his eyes, clench his jaw. And for once, it takes nothing more than that to shut Dean up again.

Castiel holds out his hand, and Dean takes a sharp breath but takes it, lets Castiel pull him close into another kiss. This time Castiel allows it when Dean's hands make their way up his chest, loosen his tie and undo the buttons of his shirt. As he sucks Dean's tongue into his mouth, he pushes first his and then Dean's shirt off their shoulders, runs his fingertips over the soft cloth of the dark t-shirt Dean is wearing. It's well-worn with age and many turns in the laundry; Dean jerks and whimpers when he rubs the cloth over his nipples. They harden immediately, and it seems to spur Dean into action because suddenly he's moving; pulling roughly at Castiel's undershirt, pushing their hips together before pulling away again, trying to undo the buttons on their pants both at the same time. Castiel pushes away again, narrowing his eyes at Dean, but this time Dean just smirks, and it slams into Castiel with the force of a hit. He can almost not breathe through the relief that washes through him; finally, finally. Dean is back.

Figures that it would be sex that achieves what nobody else has managed yet, Castiel thinks absently as they both simultaneously pull their shirts off; sex and violence is what Dean does best. Sex is by far the more pleasant option for both of them.

Which doesn't mean Castiel isn't pretty close to spilling over into violence as it is; he's reached the end of his patience.

"So..." Dean says while they both undo their pants and get rid of shoes and socks, "I don't suppose you're carrying lube in your pocket, are you?"

Castiel just raises an eyebrow, and Dean smirks again and then goes for his bag that Sam left him in the room, stripped of all weapons. He rummages inside for a while and then pulls out a round tin containing what looks like hand lotion. He waves it at Castiel and then looks at the cot. "Yeah, that's not gonna work," he says, walks over and unceremoniously drags the mattress and pillow onto the floor. Then he sits down and watches while Castiel picks up their clothes and folds them over the chair, placing their shoes neatly together next to it.

When Castiel turns around, Dean is looking at him with an expression as layered as his voice had been earlier; hopeful and conflicted and again tired, and Castiel hates, just hates it. "I'm going to fuck you," he says, jaw tense, and Dean licks his lips unconsciously, but nods quickly and moves to the middle of the mattress. They're both still wearing their boxers, but Dean's are as soft as his t-shirt had been, and it makes him moan when Castiel kneels next to him and grabs his erection through the cloth.

Castiel just holds his erect cock in his hands, not moving, until finally Dean springs into action, pulls him over him as he lays down and then flips them over, precariously close to the edge of the mattress; Castiel lets him take the upper hand for a while, because quite honestly, he's incredibly relieved that Dean actually wants to do something else than actively give up right now. He spreads his legs to let Dean between them; they shift a little until their erections rub together, sending sparks of pleasure through both their bodies. Dean groans and closes his eyes, just grounds his hips against Castiel until Castiel moans; then, as if he has been waiting for just that, Dean curls over him, cradles one of his shoulders and pushes his face into Castiel's neck. For a moment Dean just breathes, and then he starts to lick the delicate skin of his throat, up until he can nibble at his Adam's apple. Castiel swallows and makes a small noise, feels Dean's grin on his skin and it almost hurts, it feels so good.

The next thing Dean does hurts and feels good too, but in a different way; he has licked his way along Castiel's collarbone and then, suddenly, his teeth are clenching into Castiel's shoulder in a bite just on the edge of playful. Almost on their own, Castiel's hips rise to push into Dean's; they both moan at the delicious friction, and Dean flicks his tongue over the skin he has just bitten before pulling back, licking his lips. For a moment he looks at Castiel, the tip of his tongue between his teeth; then, his body suddenly tenses, the hand under Castiel's shoulder flexes as Dean flips them over again, pulling Castiel over so he is straddling Dean's hips. Castiel takes the hint and leans in to playfully nip at Dean's jaw before he slides down and licks over one of his nipples, breathes cool air over it and watches as it hardens, enjoying the breathy noises Dean lets out almost involuntarily. After a moment of indulging both of them with play, he moves on to the other one and sucks it into his mouth, flicks the tip of his tongue against it and lets his teeth scrape over it in between sucking, making Dean gasp and arch his chest into Castiel. By the time he pulls back, both of Dean's nipples are hard and glisten slightly with saliva. "Not exactly why I pulled you out of hell," he says, and Dean looks startled for a second before he gets it and starts laughing.

Dean laughs long and hard, and Castiel just watches, feeling strangely content despite the urgency in his groin; it's as if the anger that has been boiling in him ever since Dean just gave up has evaporated, has left nothing behind but a memory of heat. Never in his life has he been so angry before, and now it's all gone, leaving space behind for something else in him to expand, something he has never felt to this intensity before either. It's not surprising, not really, because from the beginning, Dean had had the ability to push Castiel farther into foreign territory than he had ever been before. Has made him feel things to an extent he has never experienced before.

The grin is still sparkling on Dean's face by the time he meets Castiel's eyes again; he has calmed down but it's as if the laughter has shaken him loose, and he's relaxed in a way Castiel doesn't think he has ever seen him before. "But they're almost worth it, admit it," he says and takes his hands from Castiel's shoulders to rub over his nipples. It sends a surprisingly hot surge into Castiel's groin, and he dives down to catch Dean's smiling lips, sucks at them and then at his tongue when Dean pushes it out to lap at his lips.

It takes Castiel a moment to realise Dean isn't just writhing aimlessly under him; he's shimmying out of his boxers and after he has kicked them away, he reaches for Castiel's and pulls them down too, takes the opportunity to squeeze his ass and then run his hands down his thighs. The position isn't ideal because he is still straddling Dean, so Dean shimmies again, curls up a little and then hooks his legs around Castiel's hips, pushes his boxers the rest of the way down and away. Immediately, they both push their hips together until their naked cocks rub against each other; Dean gasps and Castiel moans when he does it again. He doesn't allow Dean to keep it up, though; they could both get off like this, but Castiel knows they both need something more now, something more real, more tangible. Something too important that either of them could deny later, rationalise into anything that it's not. Not that Castiel really knows what it is, but then again, whenever he lets Dean goad him into something, he doesn't know what will come out of it.

So, he pulls away despite Dean's protesting noise and starts, "Where is the..." but before he can fully form the question, Dean is already groping around the floor next to the mattress and, upon finding it, pushes the tin of hand lotion into Castiel's hand. Castiel sits back a little so he can better see what he's going to do, unscrews the lid and blinks when Dean quickly pushes two of his own fingers into the lotion, coating them. When he looks at him questioningly, Dean only raises an eyebrow, pulls his left leg up to his chest to get a better angle and unceremoniously pushes one finger into his hole.

Castiel furrows his brow and grabs Dean's wrist to stop, says "Slow down. We have time." Which is not strictly true, but Dean rolls his eyes and obeys nevertheless. Castiel watches as he slowly stretches himself. It's surprisingly hot, and, wanting to be part of it somehow, Castiel licks his lips and pushes his fingers into the lotion as well, waits until Dean is about to push his second finger in and pushes his own in before Dean gets the chance to, aligning their palms, establishing a joint rhythm. He watches their tangling fingers for a moment, then raises his eyes to Dean's face. The expression Dean is wearing is even hotter than the sight of their joint fingers stretching him; his eyes are dark with arousal, half-lidded, he's flushed and panting, the tip of his tongue between his lips as he concentrates on working himself open. The best part, however, is how his eyes are fixed on Castiel, staring at him as if Castiel were cradling his soul, or maybe just holding the answers to everything.

He's done the former, and for the latter he has lately developed the tendency to look to Dean first. It should be scary, that Dean now looks to him for an answer, but it's not. They've been doing this together for a while now, and if Castiel has learned one thing from the Winchesters, it's that they're in this together, for better or worse.

Castiel isn't stupid. He knows that this, having sex, won't solve anything; it won't make Dean miraculously stop having doubts, it won't help them figure out what to do. Castiel doesn't know what purpose it could have, except temporarily distract both of them, but at least it will do that. At least that.

"Come on, Cas," Dean says hoarsely, and Castiel narrows his eyes and pushes another finger in. Dean's eyelashes flutter for a moment, he can't tell if from pleasure or from pain, but it's not very important anyway. Dean could and would tell him to stop if he needed him to, but it's not very likely – he has a way of gritting his teeth and dealing with it, at least normally. Right now he's faltering quite spectacularly, but Castiel is starting to hope again that it's only that – faltering.

"You are the most infuriating being I have ever encountered," he nevertheless sees fit to inform Dean, because it's true, and because he still feels the leftover urge to hit Dean, even if the anger behind it is gone. It might come back, though – nay, it probably will, knowing Dean.

Dean, naturally, grins and says, "I'll take that as a compliment," and it's frustrating and so endearingly typical of him that for a moment, Castiel doesn't know whether to laugh or to cry.

Settling for neither (because if he starts, he might never stop, and they can't afford to have Castiel lose it as well, not with Dean still on the brink of giving up) Castiel stabs his fingers abruptly into Dean's stretching hole, making his eyes roll up a little and making him moan. Narrowing his eyes, Castiel does it again, getting a similar reaction, and surely that is enough preparation.

Pulling his fingers out despite Dean's vocal protest, Castiel gathers some hand lotion before setting the tin aside; out of the way, but not out of reach, because they might need it again. He settles back on his heels and covers his erect cock with the lotion, and he's making sure he's coated properly, not enjoying the sensation of his hand forming a tight channel for him to thrust into.

"Shit, Cas," Dean groans, and Castiel opens eyes he hadn't noticed had fallen shut to find Dean staring at him fixedly, gaze flicking back and forth from Castiel's cock to his face and back again.

Castiel licks his lips and takes his hand off himself, looking down at Dean and catching his eyes. Not looking away, he takes hold of Dean's hand, frozen between his legs with two fingers inside himself, and pulls him out, pushes his hand to the mattress next to Dean's head. He has to lean over Dean to do that, and the way Dean swallows and bites his lower lip doesn't escape him. So he takes Dean's other hand, lying forgotten on his belly, and puts it on the other side of Dean's head, tightening his grip on Dean's wrists for a moment, taking careful note of the way Dean's breath stutters at the action.

Not saying a word, Castiel then lets go and leans back a little. Dean's left leg is still pressed to his chest, and Castiel runs his fingertips down Dean's shin before he urges Dean to spread his right leg more to make room for Castiel's bod as he pushes closer. Dean is uncharacteristically silent, and uncharacteristically acquiescent too; letting Castiel manoeuvre him to fit his idea. Castiel keeps silent as well, even when he takes hold of his cock and directs it to Dean's hole, pushes in slowly. At first the muscles of Dean's hole resist him, but then, suddenly, they give, and Castiel slides in to the hilt in one smooth move.

They both hold their breaths for a moment, keeping perfectly still, Castiel's eyes flicking up to meet Dean's. And then the moment breaks when at the same time, Dean's eyes flutter closed as he gasps while Castiel groans from deep in his throat. He can't help it, though, can barely refrain from moving, pulling out to thrust back in forcefully; Dean is tight around him, but that's not all. No, the sensation of Dean's muscles tight around Castiel's cock almost pales in the face of the fact that Dean is letting him in, not just literally but also metaphorically; he keeps his hands on the mattress to both sides of his head, but his legs are cradling Castiel's hips, and the expression on his face is heartbreaking. Castiel wants to- wants something, he doesn't know what, and so he leans in and kisses Dean, puts one hand on his cheek to rub his thumb over his cheekbone.

Dean moans, the noise echoing in Castiel's mouth, and suddenly his almost eerie stillness explodes into movement as he abruptly wraps both his arms around Castiel at the same time as both his legs open more, giving him more room even as they wrap around Castiel's hips. Dean makes another noise, and why it sounds like he's pleading Castiel doesn't know, but he can't bear it. Simultaneously, Castiel takes his mouth away from Dean's and pulls his hips back only a little, and then he thrusts in again and starts to rock into Dean's body, planting small kisses all over Dean's face, his closed eyes. Dean lets him for a while, almost passive except for the way he's clinging tightly to Castiel, but then, suddenly, his eyes fly open and he makes a strangled noise. Castiel repeats the rolling motion he tried just now, and Dean's eyelashes flutter as he opens his mouth to let out a groan.

Perfect. Castiel pulls his hips back a little further than before, careful to not lose the angle, and thrusts back in, and when he only receives favourable reactions from Dean, he does it again, and again, establishing a rhythm that gets more and more pronounced as Castiel starts to put his strength behind it. He's vaguely aware that he himself is making noises as well, moans and gasps, but he's too fixated on Dean to notice or care much. Because Dean is moaning under him, and his eyelids seem heavy except for that brief moment when Castiel's cock pushes over Dean's prostrate, because then they fly open to reveal eyes with pupils blown wide, the green nothing but a tiny sliver around them. And the _sounds_ Dean makes; every time he moans or groans and even when he gasps, especially when he hisses Castiel's name, it sends a shiver through Castiel's body, because he's doing this. He's doing this, to Dean, for Dean, _with_ Dean.

It's delicious, and heady, and utterly, utterly disarming. Castiel can't understand how someone can do this with a person they don't even know, can't imagine it's even half as enjoyable – not that it matters, because he isn't going to do it with anybody else. Even if Dean never wants to do it again, Castiel isn't going to be able to share this with anybody but him; not now, especially not in light of recent events. Especially not now.

He vaguely wishes it could last forever, even while their bodies are racing towards the finish line; wishes this perfect union, this joining would never stop, because he feels like in this moment, right now, he knows all there is to know about Dean.

It's stupid, of course. He once thought he knew everything about Dean, and he's been spectacularly wrong; chances are he's wrong now, but the feeling – the _feeling_. No matter what happens, he'll cherish this forever, this moment, this memory, this _gift_.

"Cas," Dean whimpers, "Shit, Cas, I'm sorry, please-" And Castiel realizes belatedly that he said that last bit out loud.

Not that it matters, though, and he tilts Dean's face up with the hand still on his cheek, makes him meet his eyes before he leans in to kiss Dean on the lips again. They're gasping into each other's mouths, and Dean's fingers dig into Castiel's back, nails sharp, and then suddenly he's ripping his mouth away from Castiel's as he throws his head back and groans, his whole body tensing as his cock spills wet and hot between them. Castiel is entirely enraptured, because Dean's expression, his _expression,_ and his own orgasm catches him completely off-guard, makes his rhythm falter and stop as his eyes fly open, the most indefinable sensation washing through his body, originating from his groan.

It's followed by peace; utter peace of the kind Castiel hasn't experienced in a long, long time, and he has the fleeting thought that maybe God is in this, this moment. Except, of course, that God is nowhere, but not even that can disturb Castiel now. Nothing can.

Except Dean, twitching under him and huffing out, "Dude, heavy," before he pushes Castiel off him unceremoniously. The sudden disruption of the sync they had reached would bother Castiel more if Dean hadn't immediately turned and wrapped one arm and leg around Castiel, covering him with his body. If he had wings, Castiel is sure Dean would wrap them over him as well, gathering him close and sheltering. That's what Castiel would do, if he could, but he doesn't think Dean would much appreciate being forever blinded right now. So instead, Castiel takes Dean's free hand and cradles it between his, close to his chest.

They lie still for a long time, bodies calming and cooling. Castiel has a feeling that, if they were anywhere (and perhaps anybody) else, Dean would allow himself to fall asleep now, but he doesn't. He relaxes, though, forehead pressed into Castiel's cheek, and breathes deep.

"I fucked up royally, didn't I," he says eventually, and it's not a question, so Castiel doesn't answer.

Dean lifts his head to look Castiel in the eye. "I still think it's the only way."

Castiel narrows his eyes, feels the familiar, new anger stir in him. He reins it in, though, at least for the moment, doesn't even tighten his grip on Dean's hand.

At his continuing silence, Dean tenses, not yet pulling away, but obviously being a mere moment away from doing just that. "I sure as hell am not going to let Adam do it."

"Obviously," Castiel says, letting his impatience shine through.

Dean looks at him searchingly for a long moment, and then he deflates, eyes gliding away from Castiel's face as the familiar hopelessness settles back in his face. "I just can't see how we have any other option."

Castiel licks his lips and says, very slowly, because he obviously shouldn't have to say it, but it's clearly necessary, and he doesn't like that. At all. "I, too, have been without hope before. Do you know what carried me through?"

"What?", Dean asks, impatient himself.

"Faith," Castiel replies, and when Dean makes a derisive noise and opens his mouth, he raises his voice and continues, "Faith in you. I know it's very difficult for you, Dean, but I think it's time for you to have some faith yourself. If not in me, then in your brother and friend."

Dean swallows compulsively. "I don't know if I can do that, Cas," he says, very quietly.

"Then at least endeavour not to make it more difficult for those who can," Castiel returns, rapidly reaching the limits of his patience. "Because this, what you're doing right now? Is _not helping_." When Dean still doesn't seem to be ready to make any concessions, Castiel leans in and says, very lowly, "If you want to die that badly, I am going to kill you myself. Because Anna's plan to scatter Sam all over the universe? Would work just as well for you, believe me. Even diminished as I am, that I could still achieve, and I won't leave you for Michael to use to carry out his idea of justice."

Dean swallows again, and then he says, "Hell, Cas, that's some weirdass pillow talk you've got goin'."

Castiel recognizes surrender when he sees it.

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the Blue October song "Drilled A Wire Through My Cheek". It's also that song which accompanied the fic, while it's Castiel's glaring at Dean during the episode and Dean's "I got laid" comment that triggered it.


End file.
